One of my nicknames when I played for the Lakers was Superman. Not because of my ability, but because of those big, black Clark Kent glasses. I wore them every time I played from the seventh grade through 14 seasons in the NBA. Without my glasses, if I was standing on a corner, I couldn't read a sign on the other side of the street.

All the way through high school, I heard my share of "four eyes" catcalls and, really, they bothered me up until college. No kid wants to be different, and the glasses added to my already odd look. I was tall, skinny -- 6-7, 180 as a senior in high school -- and all of my height was in my long legs.

I had started wearing glasses in third grade, and being sports-oriented, it seemed like every weekend we were going back to the store to get them fixed. By junior high, my dad had enough. He asked if there was such a thing as an indestructible pair of glasses. The guy slapped a pair of those big, black ones on my face, and that was it.

When I first made the starting lineup for the Lakers, I noticed a group of young fans in the Forum wearing the same style of glasses. At first, I thought they were mocking me. Through our PR director, I arranged to meet them for lunch so I could ask them to knock it off.

But when I walked into the Forum Club, you would have thought Magic Johnson, Jack Nicholson and Jennifer Lopez had walked into the room at the same time, with all the adulation they threw at me. I was embarrassed that I was thinking of asking them to quit. They were such genuine fans, and they were acknowledging their appreciation for the way I played. After that, even on the road, you often could spot small groups of fans wearing black glasses and holding up signs.

One of the cool things that came out of wearing the glasses was all the letters I received from kids who had to wear them, saying how I helped give them courage to go out and play and accept who they were.

Let's make one thing clear, though: My glasses didn't have tape in the middle like everyone thought. There was a shiny piece of rubber that, in some photographs and on TV, must have looked white. But there was no tape!

The glasses really were indestructible. One pair easily would last the entire season. The rubber nose part eventually would deteriorate and, because it was part of the frame, I'd have to replace them. But they never broke, no matter how hard they -- or I -- was hit. At least twice a season, I'd get smacked in the face, and the hinges on the glasses would cut me, forcing me to get stitches under my eyebrow. Whenever the glasses went flying off, the whole world disappeared. As often as they were trampled, it's a wonder they lasted as long as they did.

I tried contacts, soft and hard, and the goggles like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar wore, but they didn't work. Later in my career, with the advances in technology, they had prescription goggles, but by then, I was happy with what I had.

A year and a half ago, Dr. Andrew Caster performed Lasik surgery on me, and I haven't had to break out my playing glasses since. But every couple of days, I still have people come up to me and say, "Hey, didn't you used to wear glasses?"

Sometimes, I miss the glasses. Now I don't have an excuse if I miss a layup when I'm playing with my kids.